Defective (The Institute Series Book 3) (2 page)

Looking at the girl standing before me in the mirror, I barely recognise her as the tomboy farm girl she once was. I try to assure myself she’s still in there somewhere even if right now I’m convinced that girl is long gone.

A package sits on my bed when I come out of the bathroom. Every time I accompany Paxton to one of these benefit things, he buys me a new dress. I always insist that I could wear something he’s already given me, but he insists that the girlfriend of a presidential candidate can’t be seen in public wearing the same thing twice.

When he says this, I like to remind him that I’m
not
his girlfriend, even if the media thinks differently, and that a repeat outfit would not be the end of the world.

Lifting the lid off the package in front of me, I freeze the moment I see the dress. It’s deep emerald green – the dress I was wearing when he proposed to me in my vision eighteen months ago. I jump back from the bed as if the dress was a vicious animal preparing to attack. Standing by my bed in only my underwear, I just stare at the dress as it mocks me.

I’ve lived with Paxton for just over six months. He and his daughter, Nuka, have one end of the penthouse apartment, and I have the other. There’s nothing romantic going on between me and Paxton and there never has been. We’re friends, we respect each other, and I definitely do not see him as anything more than that.

After Chad died and we were released from the Institute, I was living with my parents. Things got a little awkward not long after my baby brother came along.

Paxton and I made a deal – I attend these stupid publicity events with him as his date, and I get a place to live rent-free.

My eyes are glued to the dress. When Paxton first offered me a room in his apartment, I almost said no. I was so determined not to let my vision come true, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I needed to get away from my parents. Part of me was also hoping that moving in with Paxton would help me forget about Chad. If I fell in love unintentionally, it would make my thoughts of him go away. That was the theory anyway. Of course, it didn’t happen that way, and I still think about Chad constantly.

Still determined to keep my vision just that – a vision and not reality – I go to my closet. In my messed-up way, I think if I wear a different dress, he won’t propose.

Why does he want to propose anyway? Why now? Does he want to take that step into relationship territory? I’m not ready for that. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for that – with anyone, not just Paxton. And why marriage? Shouldn’t we at least go on a proper date first? I shake my head at the idea. I don’t think I’m even ready for
that
yet.

It’s been eighteen months since losing Chad, and I have no desire to get my heart broken ever again. Saying I was a mess for the first twelve months would be an understatement. I barely even remember much from that time, just that I was a walking zombie who kept to myself and alienated everyone close to me. I stayed at home every day, ate myself into a walking blob of junk food, and was an all-round bitch.

When Aunt Kenna brought up her plans for the clinic, it was the first time I actually showed an interest in anything. Everyone was shocked when I put my hand up to help her. I not only saw it as a way to give back, but I also saw it as a way to escape my pain.

From there I worked out that if I kept busy, I wouldn’t have time to think about Chad, and when I didn’t think about him, I could carry myself in an adult and normal manner the majority of the time. Since then, I’ve mended some of the relationships I crapped all over during my grief, but not all could be righted. 

Going to my closet, I pull out a strapless, pale pink tulle ball gown that was one of the first dresses Paxton ever bought me. Surely he won’t remember a dress from months ago, right? Stepping into it, the fabric hugs my skin as I do up the zipper. I pull out my diamanté heels and prepare myself to walk out to the living room where I know Paxton is waiting.

My heels make a loud clacking noise as I walk on the hardwood floors. Paxton looks up at me as I make my appearance, his brown hair styled to perfection and his tailored tux fitting flawlessly. He’s a handsome man, I’ll give him that, but his face immediately falls in disappointment when he glimpses my dress.

“What? What’s wrong? I know it’s not the new dress but—”

“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?” he says with a half-smile, rubbing his hand over his head and down his neck.

“Easy on you?”

“I know you had a vision of this. And I hate to disappoint you, but changing your dress won’t stop it from happening.”

My mouth falls open.

“Please, just come sit down – hear me out.”

I must give him a look because he comes over to meet me, grabs my hand, and directs me to the couch, knowing I wasn’t going to do it on my own. I try to feel something, anything when our fingers touch… but there’s nothing.

“I—”

“Just listen,” Paxton pleads, cutting me off. “Tate told me about the vision a few months ago.”

“You’ve known for months and didn’t say anything?” Probably not the issue I should be focussed on, but whatever.

Paxton laughs a little and sits down on the coffee table in front of me. “At first I thought he was joking. We were on one of our campaigning trips, and he asked how living with you was going with innuendo so thick even a child would know what he was implying. When I told him there was nothing going on, he said ‘Yeah, not yet anyway’. Then he told me about your vision, and I actually laughed.”

“I’m so happy that the idea of marrying me is such a joke,” I say sarcastically before wondering why I’m getting angry at that. It
is
a joke.

“The funny thing is, after I got over the initial shock, I realised it’s actually a pretty brilliant idea.”

“Paxton—” I say more whiney than intended.

“Let me finish! This kind of attitude won’t fly when we’re married,” he jokes and I crack a smile. “All I’m saying is, you’ve made it perfectly clear that you’re never going to date again, I don’t want to date again, and if we were to be married, it would show the kind of stability that voters want, and the polls would go in our favour.”

“The polls? You want to marry me for a political advantage?” I ask, shocked. I don’t know if that’s better or worse.

“Gah,” he whines. “This is coming out all wrong. I had a whole speech prepared and everything.”

“Then by all means,” I say, prepared to hear more. I lean back and fold my arms, ready to be entertained.

Paxton sighs, inching forward off the coffee table and landing on one knee. He pulls out a ring box, and I try to stifle a giggle. By the look of it, so does he. “Okay … So…” he stutters.

“This isn’t the best start.” I smirk at him.

He reaches for one of my hands, and I reluctantly give it to him. “I know you only moved in here because you felt like you had no other option, but having you here these past few months has made me realise that I want to come home to you every day. I can provide for you, give you anything you want. You want to be a medic? Be a medic. You want to quit your job and go to university to study something? I’ll pull some strings. I want to give you the life you deserve, the life you want. And I would love nothing more than to have you by my side when I become President.”

I force a smile. “That’s a tempting offer, Paxton.” Leaning forward, I put my right hand on his shoulder. “And I have to admit, moving in here was exactly what I needed. I love living here. I love Nuka like a little sister. But you didn’t even mention her in your proposition. How would she feel knowing her dad was getting married? To someone not even old enough to be her mother? I mean… I guess fourteen was old enough, but I wasn’t that type of girl.”

“Allira,” Paxton interrupts my rambling. “You’re rambling. And Nuka would love to have you join our family.”

“I really would,” I hear her small voice come from down the hallway.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Paxton yells at Nuka, failing to hide his smile.

“I am!”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Paxton says, getting up to check that Nuka really is going to bed.

Isn’t this what most girls dream about? A rich, handsome, eligible bachelor offering her the world? Could I actually do this?

“She’s back in bed,” Paxton says, sitting beside me on the couch this time instead of kneeling. He spins the ring box in his hand.

“Are you saying you’d be happy in a loveless marriage?” I ask.

“I love you,” he says. It comes out casual and wispy, not at all genuine or passionate.

“I love you too. We’ve been through a lot together… but we both know it’s not in the way a husband and wife should love each other.”

“That sometimes comes after. We could grow to love each other.”

I reach for his hand and take it in mine, then force myself to look at him. His hopeful eyes bore into my sceptical ones. I lean in, knowing I’m about to kiss Paxton, hoping that I will feel something,
anything.
Our lips come together as he lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer. The kiss is tender and soft… but nothing. I just feel nothing. No spark, no butterflies. Pulling away, I see the exact same feeling in his eyes that I have in mine. Not exactly disgust, but not pleasure either.

“Okay, I see your point,” he says, looking at the ring box he’s fiddling within his hand.

“If we were going to do this, it would literally only be for show, and I don’t think the poll numbers would increase enough to be worth it, would they?”

“I guess you’re right.” Paxton sighs before slumping back onto the couch. “Will you at least think about it?”

“I can do that,” I say, not really meaning it.

“I guess we better get to this benefit thing,” he says with a sigh, preparing to stand up.

“Do we have to?” I whine.

“I’d love nothing more than to stay here, curl up on this couch with you, and watch that teenage drama crap you’re addicted to, but if I’m going to be President and Tate’s going to be Vice President, yes, we have to go. Now – go put on the real dress,” he orders as he helps me off of the couch.

Chapter Two

We pull up in our chauffeured car, our bodyguard getting out of the passenger seat to open the door for Paxton. Paxton then comes around to my side, assisting me out of the car. This is routine for these events. The media are always at the entrance, taking photos of important people arriving. Paxton insists it gives him a gentlemanly quality if he opens the car door for me. I think it makes me look like a spoiled princess, but he’s the politician here, not me, so I don’t argue.

Paxton escorts me inside the grand foyer of the banquet hall as flashes from cameras go off all around us. With my arm linked in his, a fake smile on my lips, he leads me through the entrance to the elegantly decorated ballroom in colours of gold and white, accessorised with splashes of silver.

The sound of cutlery on plates, the clinking of champagne flutes, and low murmurs surround us as we arrive at our table where Tate and my brother are already seated. Shilah stands and hugs me, a little inappropriately for such a formal event. I swear he’s seconds away from lifting me off the ground, but he resists. It’s been a while since I’ve seen either of them. Tate stands and kisses me briefly on the cheek before promptly sitting again.

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” Shilah says.

“I’ll come with,” Paxton says.

My heart starts to speed up, knowing I’m being left alone with Tate.

“Nice dress,” he comments with a wry smile as I take my seat at the table. It’s the first time he’s directed a smile at me in a long time. He knows about this dress, he was there when I had my vision. “So where’s the rock, then?”

“No rock,” I answer curtly.

“Oh, so he hasn’t done it yet?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I said no before he could even show me the ring.”

Tate sighs. “I figured as much.”

“The interesting thing is – he hadn’t even contemplated proposing until you told him about my vision. So I can totally blame you for having that happen.” My voice is stiff, flat. There’s not even a hint of playful banter like there should be.

“You’re the one who had the vision. Blame yourself,” he retorts.

I purse my lips in thought. That brings up an interesting concept. If I never had the vision, if I never told Tate and Shilah about it, would Paxton still have proposed? Shilah has told us that choices change his visions, could a vision change what wasn’t going to happen in the first place? My head hurts just thinking about it.

“So… how’s married life?” I ask trying to change the subject. It comes out more awkwardly than I would’ve liked. But who am I kidding, it
is
awkward between us. It has been ever since…

“Not any different from non-married life,” he replies, interrupting my thoughts.

“Well that’s probably because you guys were practically an old married couple from the beginning.” I try to smile, knowing I need to make an effort to be civil.

Just like Paxton’s political career, Tate and Shilah’s relationship was a whirlwind romance. Everything happened so fast. They moved in together right away, were engaged within a couple of months, and were married a little over six months ago. Their wedding was at about the time I hit rock bottom. It’s when I realised I needed to do something to pull me out of my zombified state.

“Have you spoken to your mum recently?”

“Nope,” I respond. “And I don’t want to talk about her.”

‘Allira.’

I just glare at him.
Don’t. Not here. And not telepathically! Get out of my head.

Shilah and Paxton return at that moment, and I take the opportunity to drag Paxton away to mingle. Even though I
hate
mingling, it’s better than sitting at that table for any longer.

As I walk away, I hear Shilah scold Tate, “What did you say to her?”

“Nothing,” Tate snaps back.

Paxton pulls me aside. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I try to shrug it off. “Just Tate being Tate.”

“You used to be inseparable when you were at the Institute. I just don’t—”

“Please, can we not talk about this,” I plead, my voice a little louder than I mean it to come out.

Paxton looks around and notices what I do – a lot of prying eyes, trying to work out what type of heated discussion is going on between a presidential candidate and his date. He gently grabs my hand, leading me to the dance floor, pulling me in to him for a slow dance.

“I don’t understand what happened between you two,” he says in my ear, making it look like he’s whispering sweet nothings to me. No wonder the media believes we’re an item.

“It’s just been difficult. It shouldn’t be a surprise we grew apart after losing the most important person in both our lives. It happens.”

“There’s got to be more to it than that,” Paxton pries.

“You know how hard it was for me after Chad died. Being around Tate just reminded me of everything that happened, and I just couldn’t handle it. I wish we could go back to how we used to be, but the longer we’ve spent ignoring the issue, the harder it is to try.”

He lifts my chin with one of his fingers so I’m looking in his eyes. A bright flash goes off beside us and we turn to see a photographer, taking a photo of our intimate moment.

“You did that on purpose didn’t you?” I ask Paxton, my face wrinkling in anger.

“Anything for the perfect shot,” he says smiling. He twirls me on the dance floor and I try to squash my annoyance. “How about you forget about him, have some drinks, and try to enjoy yourself.”

I lay my head on his shoulder as he pulls me in close. “Fine. I’ll try.”

***

Once I blocked Tate out of my head and focussed on the food, the drinks, and catching up with Shilah, I actually had a good night last night. With Shilah being away campaigning with Tate and Paxton a lot, I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like. Being an election year, the campaign is full on right now. They’re leaving again tomorrow for
more
appearances, junkets, and whatever else is on their agenda. If I had said yes last night, most likely I’d be going with them. Another reason for me to say no, I suppose. The four of us – plus the ridiculous entourage that follows – on a road trip to tell people why they should elect Paxton, a known Defective advocate, and Tate, a Defective himself, to run the country? Yeah, no thanks. I’ve seen the protests on the news, the rallies at campaigning events. They don’t look fun.

It’s my day off today. The clinic closes at 6:00AM on Thursdays and won’t reopen until tomorrow. Aunt Kenna goes to the Institute on Thursdays to help them out. It’s a bit of a trade-off – they give the clinic some funding, Aunt Kenna gives them some of her time. Without a doctor at the clinic, we have to close. We have Vic, but between him and Aunt Kenna already doing fifty- sometimes sixty-hour weeks, there are still gaps where there is no one to look after the place. Ebb and I are only employed as medic interns, so along with crappy pay, we aren’t qualified to run it ourselves yet.

Ebb continued her training with Aunt Kenna from when she was with the Resistance, and I’m trying to play catch up. I’m on my way to becoming a fully qualified paramedic, but Ebb wants to do more. She wants to become a doctor.

She has to do it the long way though. Not many, actually no Defectives I know of, have been accepted to university, so we have to do on-the-job training with assessments via correspondence and practical work. I still don’t think Ebb will get a fully qualified doctor’s license this way – there’s no correspondence course for such an important position – but she’s determined to do as many health and medical courses as she can, so when she can finally go to university, she’ll be prepared and already know a lot. She’s so hopeful that one day soon they’ll start accepting us to university, that I almost feel bad for her. I don’t have the heart to tell her I don’t think it’ll happen. Maybe in ten or twenty years, but not anytime soon. Everyone’s still getting used to us being integrated back into society.

Paxton’s spending the day with Nuka today, so I’ve arranged to meet Ebb at the twenty-four hour café that’s a few stores down from the clinic. We meet here occasionally, usually before our shifts, or to study, or just to catch up if we’re on different schedules for a while.

After ordering my coffee, I take a seat at a table outside in the fresh air. The clinic isn’t in the best neighbourhood, but I’ve never felt threatened in any capacity. It’s one of the poorer areas of the city, but that just means there’s more of us here. Paxton gets annoyed that I walk to and from work – he claims it’s not safe – but with the 6:00AM, 6:00PM starts and finishes, I’m usually walking home in daylight, so I tell him not to worry.

“Here you go, Allira,” Campbell, the waitress says, handing me my coffee before swiftly walking back inside. Being a regular here, they all know my name and I know theirs.

Breathing in the scent of fresh ground coffee beans with a hint of vanilla, I lose myself in a state of euphoria, if only for a moment. That sudden feeling of being watched is creeping up on me yet again. The hairs on my neck stick up, and my arms flush with goose-bumps. I look around, but of course I don’t see anyone obvious. My eyes quickly drop to my arm, checking that the sleeve of my top is still covering my mark. It’s an instinctive reflex to check that first. Revealing my Defective mark in the political world is one thing, because they all know that I’m Defective, but on the streets, by myself, I always make sure I’m covered up.

I get this being watched feeling often, but I haven’t for the last month or so, and I thought maybe I was finally over my paranoia. I keep telling myself if I
was
being watched, it would most likely be the media following me to get a story on Paxton. It wouldn’t be the first time. But there’s a part of me that always wonders,
What if it’s him? What if Brookfield has come back?

“Hey,” Ebbodine says, taking the seat in front of me, causing me to jump from fright.

“Hey,” I stammer.

“Whoa, what’s up with you? You’re so jumpy.”

“Nothing. It’s just been a long twenty-four hours,” I reply, taking another sip of my coffee.

“You can tell me all about it after I get my latte,” she says, walking into the café to order.

“Get me another one?” I call after her.

Watching her as she saunters inside in her strapless sundress, I can’t help feeling a little envious. She has no qualms about showing off her Defective mark. I admire her confidence but wonder how she doesn’t feel like she’s constantly on display. I don’t like answering the questions you get when people think it’s okay to stop you on the street and ask you the nature of your ability. They look at you like you’re a zoo animal – with fascination, but always that element of fear of what would happen if we stopped following the rules.

“So, long day, hey? Must be hard, partying it up with all of those politicians,” Ebb says, sitting down, coffee in hand.

“How did you—”

Ebb throws a newspaper down in front of me, with a raised eyebrow and cheeky look on her face. There on the political page, is a photo of Paxton and me dancing, our faces so close we look like we’re about to kiss. The headline reads, ‘Love for Candidate James?’ I can’t help but roll my eyes. At this point it seems like they’re just recycling articles and updating the photo. At least they spelled my name right this time. I’ve seen many versions: Allyra, Alirya, Aleera. I even saw an Illyra once.

“You know, you’re never going to meet someone if the world thinks you’re taken,” Ebb remarks. I ignore her, taking another sip of coffee. “Allira,” she sighs when she sees the look in my eyes. “It’s almost been two years.”

“Not even two years. It has
only
been eighteen months. I’m not ready. He was the love—”

“Ugh. If you tell me he was the love of your life, one more time…” she looks at me as my eyes start to fill, and sighs again. “I’m sorry, okay. But you’re barely twenty years old. You’re too young to have had the love of your life. You’re life has barely started. Chad was a great guy, though you weren’t exactly suited to each other—”

“What do you mean, we weren’t suited?”

“You fought
all
the time. You can’t deny that.”

“Only because we are so much alike… Were.
Were
alike.”

“Yeah. Stubborn as hell,” Ebb mumbles. “Look, it’s a tragedy what happened to Chad, it should never have happened, but you can’t go on the way you are – hiding behind Paxton and your phoney relationship, closing yourself off to new possibilities. It just needs to stop, okay?”

“What, have you been talking to Tate or something? You sound just like him,” I spit out.

“Are you going to shut me out, too, like you did him? Like you did your parents? Have you even seen your parents lately? Your brother?”

“I was with Shilah last night!”

“Not
that
brother – Liam, what is he now, like six, seven months old?”

“Somewhere around that. It still creeps me out to know that Mum and Dad are even still doing
it
at their age, let alone having new babies,” I say. “And I’ve seen plenty of him. Dad too,” I lie. They’ve become casualties of Mum’s and my fall out.